“Call your dad and ask how it’s going. He’s the one doing the job at Laurel’s, isn’t he?”
“I can’t just ask him that. He’d get suspicious.”
“Why would he think it was suspicious? You could just be asking because you want to know how long Laurel will be staying at the B&B.”
“No way. He’d hear something in my voice and tell my pa… No.”
Monty really was gaga for Laurel, wasn’t he? Not that I could blame him. I wouldn’t have kicked Laurel out of my bed had I happened to find him there. I was getting glimpses of the real guy behind the posh persona, and I was starting to like him.
But seeing Monty distraught over him drove home what I’d always known—the peace I’d found with Monty was temporary. One day, he’d meet his fated omega, and I would have to move on.
I eyed the bottles on the counter, wondering if we could sit down and drink a few shots. Oblivion seemed tempting.
Just then, the front door opened, and a blast of cold air hit my neck before it shut again.
“Hi,” came from behind me.
I turned to Laurel, and one look at his face made it clear that he hadn’t received the news he’d been hoping for.
“Hiya!” Monty sang, and threw the kitchen towel over his shoulder. He put his palms on the counter by the very bottle of rum we’d nearly finished last night. There was less than an inch left.
“How did it go?” he asked.
Laurel grimaced. “They can’t do more until the sinks arrive. I might need to stay here for a few more days.”
Monty’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Of course you can.”
“You sure it’s not a problem?”
“Not in the least.”
Laurel eyed me as if to ask if Monty was for real.
I shrugged. “It’s the lowest of low seasons. And it’s not like the B&B earns much when there’s high season.”
Frowning, Laurel tapped a finger on the rum bottle. “Can I have one?”
Monty grabbed a snifter before I could. “Sure.”
“Just one this time,” Laurel said.
Nodding, Monty filled one glass and moved it toward Laurel, who inhaled from it, hummed, and asked, “How do you survive when you earn jack shit?”
Unperturbed by the direct question, my boss corked the bottle and put it aside. After what happened last night, it was probably wise. “The pub compensates for it,” he replied. “Besides, most of my income comes from the lumber mill.”
“The mill?” Laurel blinked in confusion.
Monty hated money talk, so I figured I could explain. “Montgomery here is the heir of the Wolf clan, the ninth generation of Beauville bears. Owns half of the forests around here, the lumber mill, the pub, this B&B, a few houses on the main street, and cottages up on the slopes that he rents out. Too cheap, if you ask me.”
Running the towel over the counter aimlessly, Monty shrugged. “My family doesn’t need the money, and people need somewhere to live.”
Our guest gazed at Monty with a stunned smile. “You’re unbelievable.”
Laurel was finally getting it, wasn’t he? Montgomery Wolf was the real deal, the diamond in the mud, and there were ahundred reasons why shifters around here loved the hell out of him, despite the shit that occasionally came out of his mouth. Monty wouldn’t hurt a fly, and with everything he had, he tried to give back.
Laurel sipped from his rum glass while I helped Monty to stack the bottles back onto the shelves. It took barely half a minute when he wasn’t obsessively sorting and angling them.
“Your assistant, the guy who dropped you off, didn’t want to stay for a drink?” Monty asked casually. I knew him well enough to guess the question was anything but casual. He was fishing.
